What You May Not Know About the Person With Her Phone Out at a Concert

Has everyone heard the phrase, “Take a picture, it lasts longer!”? It’s usually in regards to someone staring and tends to be thrown out a little sarcastically. I sometimes live by those words.

I go to a lot of shows and concerts. It’s always a lot of fun for me, especially if I’m with a good group of people. Even on my own, I still leave with a smile on my face. Lately, I’ve started to notice this trend among artists and DJs alike: telling the audience to put their phones away and enjoy the music. Discussions on social media have popped up about the topic, often shaming people who take photos and videos at live shows.

Those comments have begun to get a little bit irksome, not only because of how generalized they are but because they hold judgement coupled with lack of insight about others. As technology progresses, more and more people seem to be complaining about those who take advantage of it most.

For someone coping with a mental illness, it can be more than just taking advantage of the amazing things we have right in our palms. It can be a coping skill.

When I’m depressed, or even just feeling a little blue, taking my phone out and scrolling to my favorite memories can make me smile. I can watch the videos I took at my favorite show or look at the picture I got to take with a band. I remember the euphoria of being caught up with a crowd, the all-consuming energy. I remember being in a swarm of bodies, everyone jumping and screaming and singing every word. I remember feeling so incredibly grateful that I get the opportunity to hear some of my favorite music live.

On the one hand, I get the frustration of others being on their phones. Screens are in front of you, occasionally blocking the view of the artist or someone knocks you off kilter because they aren’t looking up. But, ultimately… whatever, right? The show will still go on, and you can still have the time of your life just by taking a step to the side.

It can be incredibly difficult for me to dredge up things to be positive about when all that’s on my mind is how badly I want not to exist. Living in the moment can feel like living in a nightmare. Having some of my favorite memories at the tips of my fingers reminds me I won’t feel like this forever. It reminds me that, while bipolar is cyclical, I
have still made it through the times I thought I wouldn’t.

I watch the videos of my favorite DJs or bands playing my favorite songs and if I close my eyes, sometimes I can put myself back there again. And for a brief moment, the same feelings can wash over me and everything doesn’t seem so overwhelmingly terrible.

So, to all the other show-goers I share standing space with: I will be the one with her cell phone up in the air, recording a video during some songs and screaming herself hoarse. Let me know if my phone is in your way, and I will gladly move over. But anything that reminds me I’ll be able to be OK again is something I’m going to continue doing.